Her eyes were weary for having seen too much of a world other than hers. Actually not only her eyes were weary but also her whole self felt so. She felt so weary that she even wondered how she could stay awake when she only yearned for rest. But she knew the answer to her own question: she was a Princess and a Princess didn't fall asleep at any time. She knew this and it helped her stay awake but her eyes didn't, so why her eyelids remained opened when they were so heavy still puzzled her.
She sighed. Her lessons for Princesses were waiting for her and she didn't want to go. There were always the same faces, carefully expressionless, watched expressionlessly also by her sisters. She only wanted to rest; why couldn't they understand it? They murmured she looked pale and tired and her sisters also, that her eyes were either staring on the void or haunted by a terrible secret. Still the answer to this question was the same: she was a Princess, due to be Queen, and no future Queen could acknowledge her tiredness.
She sighed again and rose, heading for the room where the royal preceptor was waiting for his pupils. Jania, her youngest sister, was already here and she looked up at her with despair in her eyes. She knew Jania couldn't learn anything with this preceptor; more than once the girl - she was only fifteen - had burst into tears and left the room running. She felt for her little sister but nothing could be done. The dim hope in Jania's eyes died as the hem of her sister's dress brushed against her foot.
She sat, hardly acknowledging the preceptor's presence; he was quite used to this behaviour. What he had to teach was boring - or rather, the way he had to teach it: the genealogy of the previous Kings was a fascinating subject to him but he had been forbidden to share any of his enthusiasm with his pupils. Some 'well-thinking' people dreaded Princesses too well taught. A Princess should be beautiful, smile sweetly and know only enough for not embarrassing whomever would marry her. Those persons liked the way the Princesses currently were behaving: so pale, so thin, so silent, hardly looking up, they were just perfect.
The preceptor thought it was sad. Some of his pupils could be brilliant but they were bored and well, there was this haunted look in their eyes. She knew all this, she knew from the beginning, for she had talked with him before the... well, before and she had seen he had a passion for genealogy and she knew he was able to communicate his passion. The very first day of their lessons she had tried to tell him she knew why he had to do so but she didn't know if he had understood the message. Maybe he hadn't seen it, for preceptors mostly tried to avoid looking at their pupils and talking to them, except for the contents of the lessons.
She sighed and discreetly rubbed her eyes. Her sisters were coming, one by one, gracefully seating, without saying a word. The silence was heavy and thick but she was so used to it that she didn't really care. Once all his pupils were gathered the preceptor began his lesson and his toneless voice did the rest: half the Princesses were fighting the insidious heaviness of their eyelids. Jania's eyes were invaded with nameless terror and she was keeping her calm as usual, eyes wide-opened, concentrating on the only truth: she was Princess, future Queen, she couldn't fail. So even as her mind was mechanically registering the boring lesson her thoughts were racing away, thinking of the very night to come.
Should she have been thrilled in advance? She wasn't. Had she ever been? She didn't remember. Knowing she would see Mezeran soon gave her no joy. Why should it have? It had been so every night of the last ten years. Two more years and the pretence would be over. Actually so many things would be over, in two years! Jania would be seventeen; she had fixed this age herself, hoping she would find a solution before the twelve years were over, a solution to free her youngest sister and maybe the others too - even herself - but she had failed. The twelve years felt as if they were almost over already and she couldn't accept the fate awaiting her little sister. She didn't care for her own fate, but she wanted Jania to escape hers. She still hadn't any clue about it.
So she would see Mezeran tonight again, the same way her sisters would see Mezeran's brothers. Mezeran had as many brothers as she had sisters and of the exact same age. She would have thought it to be more than a coincidence, something really strange, but she was so used to it now that the strangeness of it didn't disturb her anymore. She had accepted the fact the same way she had accepted so many things concerning Mezeran and his brothers. Passively. Everything she had done since them was passive. She had done what she was told and hadn't thought by herself.
Mezeran had come to her fourteen long years ago. By that time she was of the same age as Jania was now. Strangely Mezeran, the only one among his brothers, was a bit older than her. Should she have born earlier? Anyway Mezeran had been with his mother and had called to her. She had protested: Jania was too young, only one year old, and her mother was waiting for another child, maybe the son the King so anted. Mezeran had smiled, shaking the head; why couldn't she remember his smile? She remembered it had frozen her by the time. The smile and then his words: there wouldn't be any baby. He had been right. The Queen died giving birth to her son, who died soon after her. She and her sisters were the ones. She had argued some more, before her will was shattered. Jania. So young, without a mother now. Mezeran had accepted to wait. She had gained four years: he had refused to wait longer. Because of her, of course: if he waited too long she would be old enough to marry and he would lose her. He hadn't lost; she had.
She focused a brief instant on the lesson. The preceptor was talking of King Salmon. This King, more legendary than real - he was supposedly able to change into a salmon and back into human - was her great-grand-father, so the preceptor was close to the end of his genealogy, though he had so many things to say about King Salmon. She wondered what boring lessons they would be taught once those ones were over.
She sighed, looking around her. Half her sisters were sleeping. She felt a bit ashamed, as if she was responsible for her sisters unable to hold to their rank. Jania was sitting very straight in her chair, her knuckles white because she was clutching too hard the edges of her armrests. She pitied her little sister. The preceptor finished his lesson and looked at his pupils, seeming utterly unhappy. She noticed he tried to meet her eyes but she couldn't face it now; she fixed his chin. He mouthed that he was sorry and left the room, head bent down. Thinking of it, she should probably have felt sorry rather than him.
She was surprised to be able to think so freely. Maybe she should ask help from this young preceptor, whatever his name was. She had known it once but couldn't remember. Everything of her daytime life faded so fast! All she could remember now was linked with Mezeran. Just thinking of his name was enough to remind her that she wasn't free... and hadn't been since that day, ten years ago. Or even fourteen years ago. Since that very day she had met Mezeran.
She slightly shook the head and stood up She brushed with her hand the shoulder of her sleeping sisters and they all woke up with a startled look and a blush of shame. Her second sister, Vanelkia, looked up at her and softly mouthed her name, then her regrets. Her name. She hadn't heard it in so long a time. None of her sisters spoke since Mezeran's call and Mezeran himself never said her name, but she could still remember the joyful voice of her mother the Queen when she was calling her daughter. Could she really remember? In her head her mother's voice faded and instead sounded Mezeran's, the day he had called her for the first time.
She winced. One more memory gone, taken by Mezeran. Sometimes she had the impression she had no more, but then, at dinner time, she would see a flicker of old times in the King's eyes. The times when the Queen was still alive, the times before. The call had changed all. She had changed first, during the four years of respite. She had changed even more the first year of the ten years now past. That year had been her year and it had consumed her entirely. Then, powerless, deprived of any will, she only had been able to watch her sisters change also, Vanelkia after her, then the others. Rania, Analshia and Jania were left; well, sort of. The tenth year was Rania's, but the two others already felt it on them. Maybe Jania's fear came from here too.
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Now that time for pretence was over her eyelids urgently reminded her they wanted to rest and her eyes were burning her. Vanelkia understood for she was feeling the same, but she hadn't the same weight on her shoulders. She wouldn't be the future Queen - except if her older sister died. Analshia and Jania looked at her with compassion. No word had been said but they had understood long ago what she had done for them. Jania touched the arm of her sister and gave her a wan smile. She closed her arms on her little sister and held her close. It was enough, it was more than words.
Nervously she went out the palace, in the gardens. The light almost hurt her eyes. The palace was always rather dark and she wasn't used anymore to bright light. She wondered if she could live again in daylight if ever it was over. She doubted it. She shook the head, refusing to dwell in despair. She had surrendered for herself, but there was still something in her willing to fight. For Jania. Nothing had been enough to stir her will, but Jania would be... she hoped. Then a thought struck her: why was she fighting so much? Mezeran was caring, he wouldn't try to hurt her not her sisters. Despaired deep inside she understood that, once again, Mezeran's hold on her had won.
Why would nobody help her? They talked and talked, wondering why and how and when, but nothing was done. She sighed. Mezeran had warned her. He had told her everybody would want to help her, but nobody would be able to do so. At the time she had felt fear, then relief: if nobody could help her then nobody would take her away from Mezeran. She didn't know anymore if it was a goof thing of not. She wished she could think clearly but she couldn't. She looked up. The sun position told her it would soon be time for the embroidery session. She thought they should call it the torture sessions: her sisters and she would be sitting and embroidering silently and their ladies-in-waiting, embroidering also, wouldn't dare speak a word. So two hours would be spent in heavy silence. She always heard the sigh of relief of her ladies-in-waiting at the end of the two hours. She should have told them to leave, the first time, but it would have required her to speak. Did she still know how?
Embroidering time thus came and while she was absent-mindedly pushing her needle and pulling it, she was thinking of how she could save Jania. At the other end of the palace the young preceptor closed his book on genealogy. His class of the afternoon had saddened him beyond imagination. It couldn't go like this anymore. His young sister was now sitting with the Princesses, in a silence heavier than in a tomb. He knew she would be close to tears at the end. He didn't know was to do. He would have talked to the King but it wasn't his place. They would think him bold and maybe rude if he intervened for the Princesses.
She had avoided his eyes at the end of the lesson. It was the first time it had happened though she had been distant with him for so long now that it was hard to remember there had actually been a time when she hadn't. But there had been a time when they had been almost like friends; they would talk and he would tell her of genealogy, of his passion, and she would smile gently, not talking much, but listening with an attention and a care that were long forgone. She knew all this, she knew he more than probably regretted this period of easy and informal talking, yet she couldn't do anything.
She knew the declaration her father had done two years ago, the following day of Jania's thirteenth birthday. Unable to see his daughters in this state any longer, the King had proclaimed that whoever would find the cure or even the reason of their bewitching would marry a Princess and be heir to the throne. Countless young men had come, Princes, Dukes, Counts or even more common people; none had succeeded. At first, angry at their arrogance, because the hope they gave him only to crush it later, the King had put them to death, simply beheading them, no matter the rank. He soon had stopped. His sadness was too great, but even so he could notice that none was arrogant after his failure. All ashamed and unhappy they left the kingdom as soon as they could, hiding their shame in faraway places where nobody had eve heard about them and the King with the bewitched daughters.
Mezeran knew all this, of course. Mezeran knew everything. He had softly laughed at the term 'bewitched'. Caressing her cheek he had affirmed she wasn't bewitched, that she could stop coming anytime... if it was what she truly wanted. But she hadn't the will. Was it because he had deprived her of it? Once again a part of her mind chastised her for her mean thoughts: Mezeran would never do such a thing, since he loved her. Then, miserably, only one conclusion would offer itself to her: it was her fault. All was her fault. She lacked the will needed by a future Queen. She had doomed her sisters and she could free them but she obviously didn't want to, since she couldn't succeed.
If she had been able to cry, she would probably have done so, but a future Queen couldn't cry, a Princess couldn't cry in front of her ladies-in-waiting. Did she still know how? She didn't know anymore, since her father, so worried, had always someone keeping company to the Princesses. Never alone. But it was more a curse than a blessing. Surrounded with people, yet lonely, no chatter, only silence. Even birds stopped to sing when she was around. Endless loneliness, endless silence. Except for the lessons, of course, but it was no communication. All in all, the only voice she could really remember was... Mezeran's.
She concentrated on her embroidery, her eyes fixed on the gleams playing on her copper needle. She had refused a needle in iron; actually she had refused everything in iron and so had her sisters. The King had had embroidery tools made in silver, gold and copper. She had chosen copper. Copper had a reassuring light. Silver looked too much like shining iron and gold reminded her of the sunlight, too bright. Copper was perfect. Push, pull, push, pull. Embroidery brought no calm to her feverish mind. The pale pink rose was appearing under her fingers, nested in dark green leaves. Next to it was a rosebud, looking so fragile. She thought she hadn't seen flowers in a long time. Even earlier when she was in the gardens she hadn't at them. Yet roses were pretty. She should go more often in the gardens and maybe ask for flowers. Or maybe were there already?
She looked around her. There was a vase with lilies on the window and another on the small console where her scissors were. She blinked and looked again. There were three vases with lilies in the room. How could she have missed them earlier? Looking around, there were flowers embroidered or sculpted everywhere; the handles of the windows were roses. Suddenly it seemed she was surrounded with flowers, so surrounded she felt she couldn't breathe anymore. Her eyes fell back on the rose she was embroidering. Her throat was so tight she couldn't swallow. Calm, she had to be calm. Eyes closed, thinking of twilight, with silvery starts and her tight throat eased. She opened her eyes and resumed her embroidery. Nobody had noticed her trouble.
Though she wanted to rush outside the room, she waited patiently, folding her work. Outside, at the door, near the usual guard, there was the young preceptor. He had only a slight move of the head when his sister passed by him. Cytheria. That was the name of his sister. Why couldn't she remember his name? She mentally shrugged; what did she care? The only that had to sing in her was Mezeran's. And Jania's. Jania's was always present in her mind, no matter the evil spells. She walked through the door, ready to go to the gardens, for breathing some fresh air at sunset, before dinner. The preceptor bowed to her and held out his hand to her, brushing his fingers against he sleeve.
She stopped, surprised. His name came back to her: Pelan. She remembered having called him Pan, because he liked to play the flute. Why had he stopped her? A strange fear had awakened in her, though she hardly understood why she should have feared speaking again to Pan. Obeying t his light touch, she followed him without a question. As if he knew where she was going when he had stopped her he headed for the gardens. She stood by a white lilac and he looked at her, lengthily, lost among the lilacs. He breathed her name then blushed in the last sunbeams before mouthing any title suitable for her. She shook the head and he breather her name again. She wanted to smile but knew her lips wouldn't move and that her eyes wouldn't betray her simple pleasure that was hearing her own name.
Pan didn't seem to know exactly what he wanted to do. Now that they were alone they both felt agitated. Something in her was telling her she shouldn't be here, at dusk, with a man, without company. Still she didn't move. She looked at him, this time not even trying to avoid his eyes. Finally, deciding something, he held out his hand and took hers. He shivered as he closed his fingers around hers and she wondered if he could feel the invisible ring Mezeran had put on her finger.
"Princess, you need help. I'll call for my brother, he'll save you."
She shook the head. She didn't count. Jania did. He had to save Jania, but he could sacrifice her.
"You and the others," continued Pan.
She breathed more easily. He had a shy smile and came a step nearer. At last he read in her eyes what there was to read.
"For Jania," he whispered. "Yes, Jania will be safe. I swear it."
This time she could feel her lips move and hoped it looked like a smile. Pan answered her smile, bowed and left. She remained behind. She breathed deeply the lilac scent and closed her eyes, letting the night cloak her. She was calm, almost happy, when a slight pain around her finger forced her to open her eyes. The ring on her finger was there, dark and shining, palpitating like a living thing. It was her reminder: time for diner before she went to see Mezeran. Sighing she left her shelter of lilacs and went back to the castle.
The King dined with his daughters in a vast room with little candlelight and music to break the heavy silence. But, no matter what the musicians were given to play, after two measures, they were all playing something sinister and gloomy. The worse had been the evening when, without any intention, they had played a mass of the dead, the same they had played for the Queen. Vanelkia had burst into silent tears but, dignified, had refused to leave the room. Rania had left, shoulders shaken by her sobs, though no sound was coming from her. Since then the musicians had been careful to avoid this specific melody, even though the first measures often came back. It was rare if she didn't hear them once per evening.
Since it seemed that everything concerning the Princesses had been struck with silence - from their footsteps to their sighs - people in the castle had learnt to read their body language. For example, the musicians were more attentive to the stiffness of her back than to the music they played for it would tell them that, once again, they were playing the forbidden mass of the dead. She knew they were observing her, for she could feel their gazes. She tried to hide her thoughts but she couldn't restrain a slight stiffness to invade her as soon as she heard the first notes of the mass. She liked the mass but the memories were painful.
The King wasn't very talkative either. He never had been, but since his wife's death and, more recently, his daughters' bewitching, he talked even less. So when he was dining with his daughters he didn't say a word. He looked at them, one after the other, when he was waiting for the next course, and the rest of the tie he was looking at his plate. He knew, as everybody else, that the Princesses hardly ate. One or two small mouthfuls of the two first courses and it was enough. They would toy with the rest of their food. The King was seriously worried as indicated the deep winkles of worry that marked his brow.
Haneldia, now twenty-one years old, ate so little that she was no more than the shadow of herself. Ten years ago, even after the Queen's death, she had been a child unruly and full of energy, a living laughter. Now she looked like someone who had been walled up alive and yet had managed to survive. It was the same for almost all the Princesses. Jania seemed to have had no joy at all whatsoever. Only she, the eldest, remained unperturbed, though quiet. At her father's questions she would oppose a quiet silence, calm and sure. Most of her sisters would half-panic but she wouldn't. She was the eldest, the future Queen. She couldn't panic. It simply wasn't done.
For more than six months now nobody had come to the palace to try to break the curse. It was obvious the King had lost all hope. His daughters never had much. But today, with Pan's words, she had a dim hope flickering in her heart. Maybe his brother and he could find the curse. Maybe... if Mezeran didn't find out first and got rid of them. She shouldn't let Mezeran know of her hope. Finally maybe her dissimulation of the last ten years - fourteen? - would prove useful. She hoped for it. She wanted Jania to be free.
After dinner the Princesses went to their bedroom, a single vast room with twelve beds. The King kissed them goodnight - his kiss was burning her brow all though the night - and locked the door behind him. She knew a guard would remain in front of their door. She looked longingly at her bed. But it was too soon. First she had to see Mezeran and then only could she rest a little. She sighed and sat on the edge of he bed. For quite a long time now the Princesses in the evening had refused the help of their ladies-in-waiting so they were helping each other. She looked at Phyllia helping Analshia and it was always a sight moving her. She found it was not so tonight. The twins, Nackhassia and Shamimia, Rosannia and Elvernia, and Muria and Rania were caring for their twin, as usual. Vanelkia usually was with Haneldia and her own protégée was of course Jania. Her little sister came near her, her head on her lap, and she caressed the long hair of her sister. She was just a child, an innocent child, why should she pay?
As she was going to Mezeran, with her sisters, going down the long stair, she couldn't help but feel almost triumphant. Help, help was coming! She would protect Jania, her little sister with doe eyes, the others would be saved also, Pan had said it, he had even sworn it! She knew he wouldn't break his oath, not to her, a Princess. As she was walking among the rustlings of the forest, she remembered she had to hide her newfound joy and hope from Mezeran. Calmly, breathing softly and slowly, she concentrated, forcing her face into a frozen mask, emptying her eyes of any light and drove any single thought so far in the back of her mind that she felt like an empty shell. She hadn't slowed down and already they were by the shore, where Mezeran and his brothers were waiting for them.
Each of her sisters was welcomed by one of Mezeran's brothers. Mezeran himself came to her, holding his hand toward her. She took it with a very slight nod of the head. She felt as if he was scrutinising every cell of her body, analysing every thought, every feature of her face. She knew she looked broken, submissive and resigned. She could see it in his eyes. She had only seen her own reflection in his eyes. It was as if they reflected what they saw but not what he thought. He smiled and for once his smile didn't frighten her. She only thought that he was so handsome, smiling, and she liked the unruly lock of black hair on his brow.
He caressed her cheek slowly, gently.
"My love," he said with his low voice, "I am so glad..."
His voice drifted off. She felt a sudden surge of panic. If Pan and his brother succeeded never would she see Mezeran again. Never would she come here again. All would be lost forever to her. She glanced quickly at Jania. Her young face was expressionless as usual; shouldn't it be joyful if she liked coming here?
"You will be happy of your choice, in time," murmured Mezeran. "In two years. You will have waited twelve years but for her it will be immediate. Do not fear."
She didn't reply. She never did; Mezeran did all the talking. She reminded herself not to think about Pan while she was with Mezeran. He could guess. Happy? Maybe, she didn't know. She only knew that he was happy - because she was deceiving him, making him believing she was resigned - and trusted her and that he never had looked so handsome, so attractive. But still he had never said her name since the first call, nor her sisters'. But he had called her his love... She refused to think any longer and followed her dark Mezeran.
At least now she had something to look for, something to wait for. To say she was now happy would have been too much. Still no smile on her lips but for those who knew how to look there was a new light in her eyes. During the day she didn't care to hide it. Mezeran couldn't know. Pan saw it and had a shy smile at the beginning of the next lesson. He understood why she didn't acknowledge it: she was a Princess and he was a mere preceptor. Anyway it seemed the weight on her shoulders was suddenly less heavy than before.
Once after her genealogy lesson she left the castle and ventured a bit further, to the great crypt where all sovereigns before her father were now buried. In a corner was her mother's tomb and, next to it, her little brother whose life had been so short. There was also King Salmon's tomb, with a salmon on the golden plate adorning it. In the crypt there was silence, as usually around her, but this time, it wasn't so heavy. The silence at the palace always seemed forced as if people feared the Princesses' ears were so fragile that the least noise would break them or make them deaf.
She rested her head against her mother's tomb. The coolness of the stone was comforting against her cheek. If her mother had lived maybe she would have detected the spell on her daughters. If her little brother had lived longer maybe the whole family would have been spared. What if Mezeran had provoked her brother's death to assure his hold on her? It was ridiculous. If, if, if! No if would solve the current problem. She closed her eyes, thinking of all she had tried to do at the beginning, to free her sisters and herself.
After the first call she had wanted to speak to her father but had found that no word would express her anguish. The very evening Mezeran had told her that one of them would die if the secret was revealed. Fearing for Jania she had nodded and since then her lips had been sealed. She had wanted to bring a weapon of iron when going to see Mezeran but she had discovered at the same time that she was now afflicted of the same problem: she couldn't stand iron anymore. Her sisters were in the same situation also. All iron had been instantly removed from the palace, at least from the places most frequented by the Princesses.
Each time she had tried something, the very evening Mezeran had told her it was impossible. He never threatened, he was above such low means, but he always hinted someone would have to pay if anything happened. So it was always the same thing that stopped her: Jania's safety. She straightened up suddenly: what if Pan's help required a victim also? Could she take the risk? But Pan had promised Jania would be safe. How could he be so sure? He didn't know Mezeran!
She took her head in her hands. She would become crazy if all this didn't stop soon. The dim hope Pan had given her was aggravating the things. Nobody but Pan and she knew but even so, the slight gleam in her eyes had soon appeared in her sisters' as if they had guessed something. But they couldn't. They were resigned from the beginning; Mezeran's brothers had done well their part.
She half-shrugged. She knew her sisters would protest against such accusations. For them Mezeran's brothers were loving and caring handsome young men with astonishing powers; they loved the Princesses so much that they couldn't live two days without seeing them. They were so attentive, so devoted! They would give them anything they wanted... except freedom, she thought bitterly. Was she the only one to be defiant? It seemed so. Her sisters were truly happy and the proofs were there to show her wrong.
Haneldia, in their father's palace, was more a shadow that a living person but with Vian, her betrothed among Mezeran's brothers, she was again lively and smiling and laughing. She would eat at the banquet they had each time before leaving the twelve brothers. Jania herself, her precious Jania, so terrified during genealogy lessons, would smile gracefully at Erihan and she would become nervous if ever they were slightly late when leaving to see their princes. Her sisters, so silent by day, would chatter joyfully as soon as their slim foot was on the first step of the long stair. She wouldn't. She was as silent by day as by night but then Mezeran didn't expect her to talk either.
She let her head lean back against the tomb again. Suddenly she didn't know anymore if she was right or not to be willing to free her sisters. What if she was wrong? It would be terrible. Her sisters would never forgive her for the loss of those they loved so dearly. Hope was over; it had been a lovely dream but time was no more to dreams.
Days and nights passed. Each evening, feverishly, she was observing her sisters, trying to find an hint of their real feelings. But if they laughed, talked and ate more than at the palace, their faces were still mostly expressionless. One evening she thought she had the proof her sisters were happy but the following day she had the firm conviction they were utterly unhappy. She felt as if she was on the edge of an abyss where her reason was threatening to fall in. This game wouldn't last.
Pan knew her insecurity, she was sure of it. But he had given his last lesson of genealogy the previous week and the principal preceptor of the Princesses, the tutor the King had entrusted with the education of his daughters, was now trying to find what could fit in the time now free and what was the use of Master Pelan now. His thinking took a long time but, finally, after one week of indecision, a solution presented itself to him: the preceptor of general history fell sick and Pan was asked to assure the lessons, which he agreed to without any difficulty.
During the free time Lord Elcordan proposed new dance lessons. The musicians panicked. The current lessons were already a torture for them and the Princesses. It was undeniable that the Princesses were good dancers, but the lessons were hard because the musicians, though trying all they could, couldn't bring themselves to play joyful and dancing tunes, and, anyway, the King didn't approve the dance lessons. The Princesses panicked also and she simply refused. She read the proposition and vetoed it. Lord Elcordan proposed drawing lessons. It seemed harmless. The Princesses accepted to give a try.
At the end of the first lesson of history, Pan tried to talk to her. She knew he had noticed her absent-mindedness and she felt rather ashamed but the doubt was still nagging in her mind. Right or wrong? Once again they went in the garden, among the lilacs.
"Princess, if you changed your mind, tell me so," he said without any preamble.
She looked at him, a branch of white lilac in her hand. He stepped forward, one single step, and looked deep in her eyes. She trusted him. She knew at least this much; she didn't try to hide the conflict in her soul. He let go the breath he had been holding and nodded. He understood... a little. He understood also that he was to decide. She didn't know anymore what to do. He nodded again, his eyes locked to hers.
"She will be safe," he said softly before leaving her abruptly.
Breathing was suddenly easier. If he knew there was danger he would be more careful. Jania would be safe. He had promised and he had just reiterated his promise. She trusted him. She closed her eyes and brought the lilac branch to her nose.
Pan's brother arrived two days after, at the end of the afternoon. She felt frozen; she had forgotten who exactly Pan's brother was. A soldier; with iron. Just looking at him was enough to make her uneasy. The heavy buckle of his leather belt was obsessing her. It seemed to her it was glowing, a dangerous glow. She felt as if she would collapse if she was just brushing her fingers against its cool surface.
It was late when Pan's brother - she couldn't figure his name out yet - made his demand to the King so that he would try to discover the Princesses' secret. She was present and didn't miss the light of recognition in the weary eyes of the soldier. The King looked at him, then at his silent daughter. Nobody had come for this in the last six months. The King looked again at the tired soldier. He had no hope in this stranger's success and shrugged sadly. Permission was granted but the old punishment for failure was re-established.
It was so late that the King refused the soldier the permission to try the very night. He had to rest first. He would have his first try the following night. Pan's brother had to surrender to the royal command and in his eyes she could see a sort of relief. She thought that he would probably want to talk with Pan first and maybe Cytheria also. And her father was right: he had to rest first. He was so tired it wouldn't have been fair to make him face Mezeran in such a state - especially with his own life at stake.
It was only when she was back with her sisters that realisation struck her: Mezeran had never allowed any young man to see him Why would it be otherwise with Pan's brother? It wouldn't be otherwise, even though she so wished for it to be different. Once again hope had misled her. She would have cried.
They had dinner a bit later than usual for they had given Pan's brother - she heard his name was Tran - time to take a bath. She noticed immediately he hadn't his belt anymore; without any doubt, one of the servants had told him that iron wasn't allowed near the Princesses. She felt both relieved and annoyed. Still there was something about him that kept her uneasy. She noticed also her sisters were slightly nervous, even upset. Naturally a late dinner meant they would be late to meet their dark partners.
Tran was seated next to her during the whole dinner and didn't seem at ease either. She thought he probably wasn't at ease at a King's table, with twelve beautiful - for so it was said - Princesses. One of them would be his wife if he succeeded. She noticed he was looking at all of them surreptitiously. She knew he had recognised her - maybe thanks to Pan's description, for she had never spent much time with him - but the King hadn't introduced any of his daughters to him, so he couldn't know who was who.
His face was almost as expressionless as theirs and she had a hard time reading it. Nevertheless it seemed to her that he had noticed the impatience of her sisters and that he was wondering about it. She was almost afraid: what if he thought she was wrong? That her sisters didn't need help? It was her last chance. If it failed she would resign herself. The part in her that had always resisted protested at once. No, she would resign herself only at the end of the twelve years.
That night when he welcomed her, Mezeran didn't seem as caring as usual. She was calm, though deceiving Mezeran with this mask always took all her will. He looked at her, lengthily, trying to see through her impassivity and she could see herself in his eyes. She didn't even blink.
"Someone came tonight," he said at last. "Someone who want to take you away from me."
She couldn't pretend she didn't know; he would know immediately she was lying and then would wonder what else she was hiding from him. She simply returned his gaze with all the candour she could.
"He is to follow the same as the others," Mezeran continued, visibly satisfied with her submission. "Here is what you need."
He gave her a small phial filled with an amber liquid.
"Give him this to drink tomorrow evening; I trust you for the details. Do not forget."
Someone a bit absent-minded would have heard only care and solicitude in Mezeran's voice. But her trained ear perceived perfectly the hint of threat in the low tone. Her fingers closed convulsively around the phial. She didn't answer but then Mezeran wasn't expecting her either.
She both feared and expected the next evening. She had no idea how Tran spent the day, thought she was told he seemed calm and determined. She was also told that his leather belt was back around his waist, despite the servants' warnings. Ania, the youngest lady-in-waiting, was so glad to see the Princess listening attentively to her gentle babbling that she told her the whole story: the soldier hadn't answered the protestations of the servants and when one, a bit bolder than the others, had tried to forbid it, the soldier had said that more iron in the palace would have done much good to the inhabitants. She remained thoughtful.
Iron. She hated iron. It made her feel ill, unbalanced, uneasy. He would probably wear his belt at dinnertime the very night. And so it was, but he had had the politeness to cover the whole belt - especially the heavy buckle - with a thick cloth. She glanced quickly at him. He didn't look like a soldier anymore now that he had been given new clothes. He still had some scars that no young noble would have - or else they would have boasted about them - but he seemed a bit younger than when he had arrived. Probably he was less tired, she thought. Still there was something in his eyes...
His eyes flickered to her side and they both looked away when seeing the other was looking. She was displeased with herself: why wouldn't she meet his eyes? It was perfectly normal for a Princess to examine her potential 'saviour'. But then his eyes held no malice and she found she couldn't look at him anymore: she was going to betray the implicit trust he had in her. She was somehow responsible for his presence here, she had in a certain way called him for help yet she was going to hinder him. She closed her eyes and Mezeran's face appeared behind her eyelids while his voice was softly saying:
"Do not forget..."
She opened they eyes. Was it the wind - a soft breeze in the room as it often happened - or was she imagining things? She surprised Tran's eyes on her and a new expression was on his face. Surprise, wonder, she couldn't fathom it. He would probably think she was crazy. Suddenly she wished it was the case, she wished that, thinking her crazy, he left the palace and never came back. She would thus avoid this lost expression she would see on his face after the three days. She didn't want this to happen to Pan's brother. No, she corrected, Tran. He existed by himself, outside Pan. A human being she was going to condemn, like she had already condemned so many others before him. Her fist tightened around the little phial hidden in the folds of her dress as shame was sweeping over her.
The end of the dinner came, too soon for her. She had been toying with her food more than usually, but nobody had noticed, except perhaps Tran, whose keen eyes didn't miss much. His eyes were so strange, almost innocent, yet wise. He had been a soldier for a long time, even before Mezeran called her. How had he proceeded to keep some innocence? She didn't think it possible. Yet he was before her. Suddenly Tran became dangerous. He could much, too much, and maybe he could threaten Mezeran. She shivered and hated herself.
Her conscience awoke, screaming that she had destroyed souls without caring. An assassin - even the worst of them - was still kinder than her, because they didn't leave anything to the victim; she did, letting them enough mind to realise they hadn't any soul anymore. She had destroyed lives without remission and, added a soft voice in her mind, without reason. She closed the eyes briefly, trying to get rid of those thoughts. She had been manipulated, she wasn't the mistress of her thoughts and acts. It didn't matter. She was responsible even so.
Her sisters were slightly uneasy around the soldier. It wasn't alarming: they had always been when someone pretended to break the curse. None knew how it was they had all failed; they knew she had done something and she had never seen any hint of reproach in their eyes; only a ghostly smile. They trusted her with their safety; but where did their safety lie? She would have liked to let Tran choose; maybe he would have known, a stranger like him, maybe he would have seen what was hidden behind appearances. He could have judged without a priori assumptions. It was coward from her to release her burden on someone else's shoulders, she knew it, but she was so tired...
On her way to the room she shared with her sisters, following the servant with the candles and followed by her sisters, her father and the soldier, she half-pursed her lips: she couldn't even behave cowardly for the choosing remained hers. Tran wouldn't even know a choice had to be done. The phial was there and soon she would present it to him - or not... if she could. She received on her brow the kiss her father gave her every night without her thoughts stopping to race. Tran was led to the little part of the room that they called the antechamber though it was not. The curtain was drawn, the King looked around, sighed, closed the door behind him and locked it.
She wouldn't give him the philtre. It was as simple as this. Nothing would happen. She would have smiled had her lips remembered how. She found she couldn't: her sisters were sitting on their beds but she wasn't. She was standing in front of a little table, pouring vine from a golden carafe into a golden goblet. She internally panicked: where was the vine coming from? Had a servant brought it here? If yes, why hadn't she seen it before? She watched her hands work without her willing them to. She saw them reach for the phial hidden in her dress and tried to take back the control of her body. It was a waste of effort. She measured the drops of the amber, gently turned the vine in the goblet and came to the antechamber with the goblet in hand.
Tran didn't really looked surprised when he saw standing in front of him. She thought she rather looked like a ghost, with her white dress, so pale in the dark antechamber. A ghost doomed to offer a golden goblet. Despair swept in her eyes as she held out the goblet without a word. He took it, had a slight nod as to thank her and drank the vine. She took the goblet back and left the antechamber.
As she put the goblet on the little table she thought again of the belt with the heavy iron buckle. Maybe it would annihilate the power of the liquid. But certainly Mezeran had planned the case. Mezeran knew everything, could everything. It was hopeless. She wondered where the little will she had left was when, coldly, indifferently, she checked on Tran less than twenty minutes after. He was lying on the bed provided for him, already sleeping soundly, even slightly snoring!
She wouldn't go. She wouldn't leave the room. There. This one was a good idea. Already her sisters were ready, standing up one after the other. She didn't move. She would win this one. But then suddenly, she found herself on her feet, walking to the large wardrobe at the end of the room. She passed her hand in front of the handle, still trying to fight whatever hold Mezeran had on her. The wardrobe was open. Almost feverishly, she pushed away some clothes and, pressing a hidden spot, revealed a passage behind the back of the wardrobe.
She stepped forward. Total darkness surrounded her then, as usual, a timid silvery light flickered near her. Others lighted up as she walked, followed by her sisters. Her shoulders were slightly sagged; it was impossible to defeat Mezeran. She was sure of it now. With a heavy heart, she followed the usual path mechanically: the long flight of stairs, the bronze gate, the silver forest, the golden forest, the diamond forest and the lake. On the lake the magnificent dark palace, enlightened for them, but still as dark as the twelve silhouettes waiting for them by the shore...
Mezeran was smiling. It was wonderful when he was smiling but yet she couldn't get rid of this feeling of uneasiness. She had thought it was despair, at first, she had been in the forest, but now she wasn't so sure. Mezeran's smile always swept everything away but pure joy.
"Well done, my love," he murmured and his voice was softer than velvet. "Oh, my love, only two more years to wait and you will have your lovely voice again! It was so brave of you to have sacrificed it so we could be reunited forever!"
She was surprised. He sounded tender and caring. Actually he had rarely been as attentive as tonight. But what was this story of her sacrificing her voice?
Or... was he suspecting another presence? Her uneasiness... it was like when she was in presence of Tran with his iron belt buckle! But it was impossible! He was sleeping when she had left. Maybe it was just what Mezeran thought she had done since she hadn't talked in ten years. Or maybe was it some new torture he was planning... He smiled again and joy filled her heart and mind.
They left the shore in their small boats Mezeran was rowing, singing softly an ode to the moon, smiling at her. It wasn't the first time she heard him sing but never had his voice been so bewitching. She looked behind her, at the long line of boats, with the dark princes bending down on their oars. She frowned when seeing there was a gap between Analshia's boat and Jania's. In spite of Erihan's efforts the distance kept growing. Mezeran noticed her worry and said very low:
"She doesn't have anything to fear. I wouldn't allow anything to happen to her, not in my realm. Ever."
The voice carried far on the lake and she knew Jania had heard Mezeran. She wondered if it wouldn't have been safer to let Jania live forever in Mezeran's realm. He had said nothing would happen to her and he would keep his word, she knew he would. She looked at him as he was bending his head on the oars. She had never really thought of the pain it would cause him if they were set free.
He couldn't go where she could go; he couldn't go in the sun. He had only been given eternal darkness. His brothers and he were doomed to marry only sisters for the generations had to be of the same blood and he hadn't the heart to forbid some of his brothers to marry. So he had looked for twelve sisters - or only eleven, for he would have gladly sacrificed himself, but eleven sisters were as hard to find as twelve - before even his brothers were in age to marry. He wanted them beautiful, he wanted them princesses, well-educated. His family was of the highest breed, higher than hers, and he had looked down at her sisters and her. Cursed again he couldn't court her as he would have wished. He had to call her and then bewitch them all for twelve long years, one for each of them.
Doubtlessly he was suffering. Which man would like to know he had to cast a spell on his love to marry her? Yet he was smiling tonight. He had been bitter, scathing, even violent sometimes, but she thought she could understand. Shunned from everywhere, cursed, doomed to darkness and almost to cold loneliness, he could barely give love he had never received. He had taken on his shoulders the whole burden, giving hope to his brothers, and only he knew the prince of his failure. He had seen a dim chance and was seizing it with the despair of a drowning man. She was his chance. He couldn't afford to lose, had no desire to, only this could explain the mix of brutality and tenderness he had toward her, his fierce possessiveness.
He looked up at her and had a strange smile as a gleam of triumph was lightening up his eyes. She shivered and immediately he inquired, concerned:
"Are you cold? The air on the lake is quite fresh, but we are almost arrived."
She shook the head. His tone was indeed concerned but there was a metallic edge in it. He had told her of his fate, a long time ago, choosing carefully his words, but what if he had lied to her? He could be a demon prince, with the attract of the dark beauty, the power of the darkness and he was just trying to lose her soul along with her sisters', mesmerised by his brothers. His veiled threats could cover hell behind him. What would the dark palace turn into once the twelve years would be over?
The small boat accosted and she blinked at the slight shock. Mezeran smiled as he held out his hand to help her out of the boat.
"Daydreaming, my love?" he said, gently mocking. "Ah, come dance in my arms and I will make your life a dream forever..."
She followed him, wondering how she could have doubted him. His hand around hers was warm and strong, but careful also not to crush her fingers. Of the two figures she had thought of as for Mezeran's she preferred the first one, though it made her pity him. No, not pity; pity was something no proud man would want to receive and Mezeran was indeed proud. Not pity, rather compassion. One had to be strong to face eternal darkness and she felt her heart stir for such a man.
As soon as they were in the palace, Mezeran took her in his arms and danced with her, humming softly under his breath. Never had he seemed so happy. Actually his happiness seemed to grow with the years passing by. The closer he was from the twelfth year, the merrier he seemed and he had been more than gloomy at the beginning. She thought he would be soon released of his curse and she lay trustingly her head on his shoulder, forgetful of anything else for once in her life.
The whole night passed like by enchantment as Mezeran and she were forgetting everybody else in each other's eyes. Nothing could have torn them apart that night and the uneasy feeling disappeared from her mind as she was dancing in Mezeran's safe embrace. Both sighed as the call for the banquet broke the charm. They knew it would soon be time for her to go back where she belonged, where he couldn't go. But now she felt she was belonging here, to this realm of darkness and endless music.
A thought stirred in her mind, a thought that wasn't hers. Any moment of pity, of regret, of belonging here just made her his a bit more, made her be part of the realm. If she continued so, soon she wouldn't be able to go back no matter what, even if the twelve years weren't over. She had to be strong; her will, her endless fight had been the only thing keeping them from being trapped here before their time.
She slightly shook the head: it was ridiculous, Mezeran would never... But he had again that strange smile and once again the image of the demon prince presented itself to her, with the dark halo of his powers surrounding him. He took her hand and reverted back to beautiful, human, Mezeran. Her imagination was playing strange tricks to her.
She hardly remembered the way back, except the way Mezeran had clasped her hand when they had parted by the shore. She hurried on the path going through the three forests, her little feet half-hurting for the sole of her torn satin slippers were hardly protecting them from the hard ground. She stopped only once, in the silver forest, turning around, trying to identify the source of the rustling noise she had heard. She saw nothing, heard nothing. She resumed her walk, her uneasiness back, mixed with some regret for having had to part so soon with Mezeran when they had never been so close.
She closed the secret door of the wardrobe behind Jania and, while her sisters were helping each other to get ready for bed, she went to check on Tran. He was still sleeping soundly but something on his face made her look closer, bending toward him. A look of surprise was slightly marked on his features and she wondered briefly what could his dreams be. Half-shrugging she went back to Jania and helped her to get ready for bed. Then, exhausted herself, she left her torn satin slippers at the foot of her bed and drifted quickly to sleep, dreaming she was still dancing in Mezeran's arms.
Despite her tiredness she woke up only three hours later. Tran stirred in his sleep, slowly awaking. The sun was already up but the draught she had given him the previous night had that effect of forcing people to sleep far longer than they would have. She felt him, rather than actually saw him, when he rose from his bed; she knew he was looking at the twelve pairs of worn slippers that had been new only the previous day; they all looked at the slippers. Then she heard him knock softly at the door and the guard outside let him out - thanks to the key the King had given him at sunrise.
She tried to drift again to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. She opened the eyes and on the ceiling above her the dim sunrays passing through the thick shutters were drawing strange tortured images. One of them looked like Mezeran, dark and mysterious, then, by a play of light, it suddenly turned into a pale ghost with a tortured face. She shivered, having the impression of looking in a mirror - which she had carefully avoided since the call: Mezeran's eyes were far enough. She drew the covers up a bit more and closed her eyes again.
Her sleep was not restful. She didn't know if she had nightmares or not, she only knew that when she opened her eyes and took the decision of getting up, she felt as if she had just gone to bed. One by one her sisters were waking up also; Jania was always the last one and it was a pity to see her wan eyes. Silently they prepared themselves and then she knocked at the door. The guard opened the door and bowed respectfully to them. She had a slight move of the head, as to tell him she had noticed his greeting, and went her way, followed by her sisters.
It was always the same scenes, over and over again. When a man tried to find the secret, the King would give the key of the room to the guard at the door, but otherwise he would come himself by midmorning to unlock the door. Yet all these precautions hadn't been enough to protect them. She wondered how Mezeran had proceeded to find them from the depths of his dark realm.
They day went on, slowly, silently. Pan hardly exchanged a glance with Tran, as if they wanted to hide the fact they knew each other. On the contrary, Cytheria's eyes were invaded with joy when seeing her brother but she remembered her position and politely and stiffly she greeted him. It was rather interesting to observe, this triangle in the family and, in its centre, her. They were all linked to her in a certain way. She just hoped they weren't doomed like her.
Dinner was as silent as usually, except for the sad music played in background. The musicians had been very careful lately and she hadn't heard the first measures of the mass of the dead in quite a while; she discovered with mild surprise she longed to hear them. She repressed a shiver, wondering if it was a premonition. Tran was silent, looking obstinately at his plate; he was probably ashamed of having failed the very first night; they all were. But yet, though he might have guessed, the King didn't ask any question. It was the rule: no question till the morning after the third night.
The evening was similar to the previous one. The vine was on the little table and she had kept the phial about her the whole day long. Once again she offered the golden goblet to Tran who took it without any defiance. She would have wanted to scream but she was as in a dream and her actions were not hers. In less than fifteen minutes, Tran was sleeping soundly and the door to Mezeran's realm opened as a distant bell-tower rang the twelve strokes of midnight.
They were waiting fro them and once again, Mezeran's genuine joy when seeing her dissipated the uneasiness she was feeling again. Jania's boat was slower than the others and she remembered her fears. Maybe Erihan wasn't feeling well. She couldn't remember if the boat had been slower when they had come back the previous time. She would have to be careful this time. She didn't breathe a word of her worries to Mezeran, though he could probably guess them.
She managed to remain late enough on the shore to see Erihan arrive and she looked attentively at him. He seemed perfectly healthy, speaking with Jania and making her laugh. Jania's silver laugh was a balm and a pain to her heart. She was glad to hear her young sister laugh but it saddened her that it would only happen in the twilight kingdom.
Mezeran took back her hand and led her to the dark palace, his smile telling her he knew why she had lingered behind. She felt happy he could understand her so well but on the other hand, it was rather frightening: he knew her as well as he would if had created her.
Her imagination got the better of her. After all, she knew nothing of Mezeran, but that he had strange powers, dark powers. Maybe he had created her and her sisters; maybe he was responsible for her little brother's and her mother's death. Maybe he wasn't even human! To have such powers he could be a wizard or even a dark god. A god of creation, able to create life while giving it the aspect f nature's work.
Could she be only a puppet? An automate he would have created for driving away his boredom? A mere creation with the pitiful belief it was alive and that he could feed with lies about his fate. She felt human and truly alive but she knew nothing was impossible to Mezeran. Was there really anything he couldn't do?
Then she breathed a bit more easily: yes, there was! He couldn't go in the sun; how then would he have managed to create something able to live under the sunlight? She had the proof she was a real human being. Yet... yet again she had only his word as his incapacity to walk under the sun. He very well might be able to but he could prefer darkness.
She shook herself and came back to reality. Her imagination was getting wild lately. Mezeran, a dark god, really! True, he had strange powers, but he wasn't all mighty. Yet she was irritated not being able to decide if she loved him or feared him. She was fascinated, she knew this much, but beyond this, she didn't know anymore and she could only hope that she hadn't trapped her sisters just to satisfy her fascination.
She looked around her. Jania was twirling in Erihan's arms, smiling and laughing, looking truly happy. No more gloom on her sisters' face. And on hers? She didn't know and didn't want to know; the brief glimpse she was regularly having in Mezeran's eyes was far enough. Too much knowledge was dangerous and again her mind raced ahead on different wild - and dark - possibilities. She stopped thinking and danced.
Mezeran was silent for once and he was holding her against him as if she could be snatched away from him at any moment. As usual his eyes were only reflecting her but his lips were slightly pursed in a tight smile. He would caress her hair almost absently but if she only stirred in his arms he would hold her even closer to him, unable to bear her being apart from him. His insecurity was new for her and it seemed that, since he was choosing to let her see it, he was a bit more hers than before. She knew now she was his weakness and it gave her an intoxicating feeling of strength.
The parting was hard once again. It was strange how she had never felt so close to Mezeran now that Tran was here for helping her to get free. Was she simply trying to give him some tenderness before leaving him forever or was she realising she belonged with him? In a certain way she was quite afraid at the idea of leaving him. He had been part of her life for the last ten years and he had a preponderant place in her mind. On the other way the sweet idea of rest and freedom was a call hard to resist to.
She heard noises in the diamond forest but, looking around, saw nothing at all. When the noise persisted in the gold forest she stopped for observing the surroundings. She met Jania's surprised gaze and mentally shrugged. Her imagination was hearing things. Nobody could be here with them; it was Mezeran's realm and he wouldn't allow anything or anybody to harm them. Still her feeling of uneasiness kept her on her guards.
Tran was still sleeping, looking almost like a trusting child, one hand under his cheek and the other under his pillow and she wondered if his fingers were closed on the hilt of a dagger. He looked so innocent that she felt a pang of anguish thinking she was betraying him and condemning him to endless hiding for burying his shame. She had called him and he had come, answering her call. She had turned against him instead of thanking him. Now, as the sun was slowly rising, rainbow dawn showing on the ground through the shutters, she was looking at the sleeping man, thinking she should be the one to hide for shame. She turned away and went to bed.
She half-awoke when hearing his bed creaking under his weight. He was getting up and would soon knock at the door to get out. She heard soft footsteps, coming toward the first bed, Jania's. Panic immediately swept though her and she opened the eyes. Without moving she looked at him, her body tense, ready to jump from her bed if her sister needed help.
He was merely looking at Jania, his arms by his sides. He then went to the next bed, then the next, each time looking at the sleeping Princess. They were all sleeping, all, but her. Her bed was the farthest from the door - but the nearest to the dark realm's entry. As he was coming near her bed, she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. He stopped by her side, looking down at her, and she could feel his gaze on her.
He sighed. She shivered. He half-extended his hand toward her face and, feeling all his movements as clearly as she would have seen them, she recoiled in her bed. His hand drew the line of her face without ever touching it and then withdrew. She breathed a bit more easily.
"Are you happy or deadly afraid?" he whispered before even more softly saying her name.
The surprise she felt when hearing her own name forced her eyes to snap open. She met his quiet eyes; he didn't say a word, he just returned her gaze. She turned in her bed, unable to look at him. He sighed and left.
She hid all she could during most of the day; she wanted to be sure she wouldn't meet Tran. She wouldn't bear her own guilt nor his quiet confidence. She even avoided Pan and Cytheria. The young preceptor looked slightly hurt and the lady-in-waiting didn't understand her nervousness.
By dinnertime, as she met again with Tran, she noticed with surprise that he didn't look anxious. He seemed calm and confident, not at all like a man who had failed to this task already twice. What was wrong? Was it only that he had been so long in insecure conditions that he could face anything with calm? Yet the fingers of his left hand were often brushing against his belt buckle. Iron. It could protect him; was it the reason of his confidence?
Accidentally she met his eyes. They were slightly troubled, as if he was trying to take a hard decision. She remembered the question he had whispered to her earlier in the day and she shivered. He was trying to sort out what she couldn't do. She remembered having wished for someone to take the decision for her and wondered if he would solve the difficult enigma. Thinking of the two last nights with Mezeran, dancing with him under the twinkling lights of the dark palace, would give an impression of perfect happiness. But her own happiness was no matter. Only her sisters' counted.
Once again she had forgotten to look if Jania's boat had been late when coming back. She had been so lost in her conversation with Mezeran that she hadn't paid attention. She frowned; it wasn't like her, to forget Jania's safety for Mezeran's dark and mysterious eyes. She had to be strong.
As the door closed behind them, she listened for the key to turn in the keyhole, locking the door. She heard the soft clicks when the King put the key back on the golden chain around his neck. She knew what would happen the following morning: questions could be asked, the third night would be over. She almost felt sorry for Tran. She hadn't for all the previous ones; they hadn't cared for the Princesses, but just for the promised reward. For all they were concerned, the twelve sisters could have rotten in a cave as long as one would have given them the title of heir to the throne.
Tran wasn't like that. He had come here on Pan's request, to help them, and he hadn't spoken of the reward. Actually, she remembered now, he had had a move as to dismiss the subject when the King had repeated once again what was the reward. Tran had looked at each of them, as persons, not as a way to reach the throne, not as a reward. In his eyes when he was looking at Jania, she could see the worry of an elder brother.
Maybe he would be a good husband; he certainly seemed caring enough and he knew to respect the silence of the others. Some of the suitors had chatted endlessly to fill the silence without understanding they were hurting their ears and scorning their choice of silence. She thought furthermore that one should be quiet when listening to music. It was insulting the musicians that to speak while they were playing.
She was in front of the little table, looking at the golden carafe. The phial was already in her hand. She didn't remember having taken it. Someone was forcing her. She suddenly knew what it meant: Mezeran had given her the phial. Now if he trusted her and loved her, why was he forcing her? And if she loved him in return, why was she trying to fight this insidious will? Yet the philtre was already in the goblet and she was pouring the vine.
A puppet. She wasn't anything else than that. His puppet, maybe, as she had thought the previous night, just his creation. He was lying to her, deceiving her; she had no importance for him. She and her sisters were only a new challenge, a way to have Princesses as willing brides. She despised her own weakness but her hand was already around the goblet, ready to bring it to Tran for the third night in the row.
She looked down at her hand, this strange hand doing things without her telling it to. She was clutching the goblet so tight that her knuckles were white and, for no reason, she was frightened. She was in front of Tran without knowing how she had arrived here. He rose politely and she looked up at him. She saw mild shock on his face as he met her eyes. Was he seeing the fear she was feeling? His hand trembled as he held it out to take the goblet she wasn't even offering to him.
He didn't drink it immediately. He looked as if he wanted to tell her something but he changed his mind. She appreciated his decision: he was a man who wouldn't waste words when silence sounded better. He drank hastily the vine and put the goblet in her outstretched hand. No word was spoken but in his eyes she could read his promise: by tomorrow morning everything would be explained! She so wanted to believe this she felt like she would cry.
Mezeran was worried. She hadn't been as expressionless as usual and he had read in her eyes her anger for having been forced to give the vine to Tran. He apologised humbly - which was rare - explaining he wanted to protect their future happiness. She thought that happiness couldn't be built without trust but she didn't say anything. Mezeran half-pretended she had forgiven him but he knew it wasn't so. Worry frowned his perfect brow.
He tried to charm her again but she was indifferent to his attentions. She danced with him as she would have with anybody else. Nothing would make her react. Disappointed he stopped his efforts and became coldly polite. She didn't seem to notice. A storm was raging under her head. His excuse had been plausible, naturally; he always knew how to look as he was right. But was he really?
It was dangerous, she decided. After all, she knew nothing from him and his powers were too great to be neglected. There was nothing to indicate his brothers had the same powers but she couldn't take the risk. It was too great. Strangely her mind felt quite clear, not as clouded as before. She saw through Mezeran's attempts; there was no shyness nor clumsiness in them, only measured skill. She wondered if his love was equally measured.
It was a sad night, even compared to before. She wanted it to be over, though the idea of facing Tran and her father in the morning almost made her sick. Tran embodied her shame, avenging all the previous young men who had attempted the adventure. She realised now that her will had been skilfully controlled, all rebellion nipped in the bud. Each time she had been mesmerised by Mezeran, she had been his a bit more. Bitterly she thought he would mesmerise her again and again, even though she knew he was only toying with her.
The banquet came and then the time for going back. As usual Mezeran was the first to row and they reached the shore before the others. He stood there, by her side, head bent down, while she was looking at her sisters. Her suspicions had been right: Jania's boat was slower, even despite Erihan's efforts. It was only since Tran's arrival at the palace... The idea struck her and left her both doubting and hoping.
Her sisters said goodbye to their handsome partners, she only had a slight head move toward Mezeran then turned away to lead the way. They had reached the crystal forest when Mezeran cried out:
"Wait!"
He was instantly by her side and he took her hands in his.
"I love you," he said, imploring. "You know I do, don't you? I love you, don't leave me like this..."
She felt cold as she had never been; no warmth swept through her as she was hearing the passionate declaration. She wanted to say something, wanted it badly like she had never wanted it during the past ten years. But she couldn't, could she? Her voice was gone. Was it really or had Mezeran quieted it so she wouldn't protest?
"Do you really?" she said sharply.
Her voice was odd, hoarse, hardly recognisable, but it was her words! She felt triumphant. Mezeran looked thunderstruck and didn't try to stop her when she resumed her way. Her sisters followed her silently, probably wondering about her outburst.
It felt so good, exhilarating! She had been silent for too long, unable to shake off Mezeran's will from her. Now it was over. She was free from him, she felt so whole! Her newfound joy died as quickly as it had begun. She was free, it was true, but her sisters weren't. Jania was still Erihan's prisoner, thus Mezeran's and he held her by her little sister. She would almost have cursed fate. But at least the first step toward freedom was done.
The sun was rising when they reached their room. The princesses didn't even go to bed. They waited proudly, their torn slippers on their feet. Tran was still sleeping but he awoke immediately when hearing the key turning in the keyhole. She was quite surprised. Nobody had awoken so fast from Mezeran's draught!
The King himself was standing on the threshold and his gaze saddened when seeing how the Princesses were shoed. He made a gesture and a servant stepped forward to present her a new pair a slippers. She changed shoes without losing her regal carriage and joined her father who kissed her on the brow. One by one, her sisters followed her example and they all took the way to the throne room.
Only the King sat. The Princesses stood around his throne and Tran bowed respectfully to them. It seemed to her that he was trying to meet her gaze. Already weary the King asked the soldier if he had solved the mystery. His tone let little to guess what he thought the answer would be. Tran straightened, looked again at her and said:
"Indeed I have, Your Majesty."
Thunder striking the palace wouldn't have surprised them more. The King repeated blankly:
"Ah, you have... You have... Well, if you have, tell me where my daughters tear their new slippers!"
Tran looked at her, straight in the eyes; she didn't flicker and he replied:
"In a dark realm, Your Majesty."
Quietly he explained the path to the dark palace underground. She was only hearing his words through a blur, as if he was very far. When he mentioned the forests he put in front of the King branches from each of the forests and the precious leaves seemed to be twinkling at her. He had been in Mezeran's realm; it was unbelievable but true. The slowness of Jania's boat, the noises in the forests, all became clear to her now.
Then Tran spoke of the lake, the twelve dark princes, the palace and the dance through the whole night, the magnificence over there. She was half-smiling, something that nobody had seen coming from her for the last fourteen years. Then Tran produced a gold goblet, which came straight from the underground palace, and inside it was lapping some water from the lake. He took something from under his belt and she knew exactly was it was. Iron. He dropped it in the goblet.
The water began to bubble furiously but Tran only clasped tighter his fingers around the goblet. Then as the water was still again he poured it on the ground. When it touched the perfect white marble, the water hissed, darkening the ground and suddenly a great cry was heard. She realised with mild surprise that she had uttered it, but for her, it was only an answer to the cry let out by the dark silhouette standing on the stain. Mezeran. Each of her sisters murmured the name of her prince, then turned the head away, and suddenly their faces became wondering, as if they were relieved of a terrible burden.
It was easy for them, not for her. Mezeran's eyes were locked to hers and there was the pain of betrayal in them. Without even looking down, she knew the invisible ring he had put on her finger was now shining dark, visible from everybody. It was hurting her but yet, she wouldn't tear her eyes off Mezeran. Then he suddenly disappeared. She felt herself fall. She opened her eyes, vaguely remembering having heard her father ask Tran which Princess he wanted for wife, and had a wan smile for her sisters gathering around her. Behind Jania she could see Tran looking at her with concern. She had another smile for him and she heard him say:
"I am no longer young, give me the eldest."
But his eyes were still locked to hers, denying his indifferent tone. Then he mouthed that Jania was safe and relieved, she closed her eyes. Jania's voice was calling her from so far, but it didn't sound like the voice she had in the underground realm...
"I'm just tired..." she heard herself say, her voice still hoarse. "Let me rest..."
"If ever the secret is revealed, one of you will die..."
Why was she remembering this now? Mezeran was powerless, he had lost: they were safe in their father's palace and Tran would protect her. She heard some whispers about an invisibility cloak and the draught he hadn't drunk and she understood why the impossible had been possible.
"One of you will die... will die... die..."
"Elnaria!"
Jania's voice calling her name, sounding so concerned. Her name. She had to reply.
"I just want to rest... a little..."
She wished she could hear the mass of the dead.
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